


change the fate's design

by sleeplessstarryskies



Series: heal what has been hurt [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Tony Stark, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Infinity Gauntlet, Infinity Gems, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Reality Stone (Marvel), Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22642672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessstarryskies/pseuds/sleeplessstarryskies
Summary: The stones... they're alive - sentient, aware - and grateful; they wanted to thank Tony for saving them by granting him whatever he desires.Tony just wants to see Peter again. His kid, safe and sound, in his arms.He's not yours, Howard reminds mockingly, tone as cold as frostbite.But do you want him to be?Reality questions softly, a gentle breeze whispering against the shell of his ear.And, Christ, does Tony want him to be.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: heal what has been hurt [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633225
Comments: 9
Kudos: 174





	change the fate's design

It took them nearly three years (two years, three hundred eighteen days, and twenty-two hours without Peter) to track down that purple bastard after he fucked off to the far side of the galaxy, cowering in the deep end of space with his jewelry while they hunted down the rest of his army, picking them off one by one until he was all that remained.

Even when cornered and alone, the slippery bastard put up a hell of a fight.

(Good thing Tony has nothing left to lose. Everything, everyone that matters to him is gone, dust, _dead_.)

During the scuffle, Clint is flung across the field, tossed aside like a broken toy. His head makes a sickening crack as it slams into the ground. He doesn't get back up. Natasha takes a blast of pure power right to the chest and collapses, dark smoke rising from her crumpled body. The sight of burnt hair and charred flesh is horrifying enough that Tony's glad for the suit's air filter, protecting him from the scent of death undoubtedly permeating the air.

Build-A-Bear and Blue are nowhere to be seen, but there are telltale clumps of fur knotted around the fingers of the golden gauntlet and scraps of silver-blue metal carelessly scattered around his feet.

In the distance, Tony catches a glimpse of the crushed remains of the Hulk Buster Armor, broken beyond repair and leaking red.

("No heartbeat detected," Friday informs him quietly.)

Rogers' face is swollen beyond recognition, the color of his skin barely visible beneath the canvas of purples, blacks, and blues. He continues to face Thanos head-on, keeping the brute of Thanos' attention on him, and dances just out of reach of his next flurry of punches. Thor slams into Thanos with a snarl, blood spilling profusely from a cut racked across his forehead. Rogers' darts forward, locking his arms around Thanos' left arm, but that doesn't stop him from aiming his next attack at Tony.

A jet of purple forces Tony to fall back, the remnants of his suit sparking weakly in protest, repulsors dimming as the last of its power drains away. Tony swears violently and scrambles to get his armor back online, into something resembling operational. His HUD gradually flickers to life, blaring red alarms and warnings and damage reports, all of which are too distorted to even begin to comprehend. He grits his teeth - he's so fucking useless.

(If you're nothing without the suit, then you shouldn't have it. Peter hadn't needed the suit - he hadn't needed Tony - to prove he was strong, to prove himself. Tony just wanted Peter to know that he could be better - that he already was better than Tony; he who's been trying to redeem himself for years, who still fails to do the right thing even with all the power and money of the world at his fingertips.)

(I am Iron Man. What a fucking joke. Without the suit, he couldn't save anyone.)

(He couldn't save anyone with the suit either.)

There's a bright flash of lightning, white-blue and fierce and hot enough that Tony can feel the heat seeping through the cracks in his suit, burning his exposed skin, and Thor slams his axe down on Thanos' trapped arm, cleaving cleanly through his elbow; there's a sharp hiss, the stump of his arm blackened with dried blood and burnt skin as the wound is immediately cauterized on contact.

The gauntlet falls to the ground with a resounding thud. The stones glinting brightly, innocently, despite the gore coating them. Over the blood rushing in Tony's ears, there are whispers, melodious and alluring, beckoning him forward with soft promises.

Thanos roars, a raw animalistic sound laced with pain and fury, and throws Rodgers onto the ground, smashing his foot into his temple, knocking the man unconscious. He then turns to Thor, grabbing the god's weapon and yanking him closer, until they're nose to nose. He rams his head into Thor's, and the shock of pain catches Thor off guard, his grip slackening around the handle of the axe. Thanos easily pries it from his lax hands and tosses it aside. He wraps his now empty hand around Thor's throat, squeezing, lifting him up into the air, watching as his face darkens as he gasps for air, fruitlessly clawing at the arm suspending him.

Tony scoops up the gauntlet, Thor's pained wheezes and Thanos' snarls falling on deaf ears. He gazes at his reflection (tired, battered, and bruised) in the gauntlet, in each of the stones decorating the knuckles.

_Closer_ , they hum, voices reverberating in his skull, and he wipes a trembling, unarmored hand over them, smearing the blood coating them. They're warm to the touch, making his skin tingle and blood run hot.

There's a sudden, sharp crack, loud and violent, and Tony instinctually takes a step back, clutching the gauntlet to his chest. His head jerks upright, meeting Thanos' furious eyes.

"Stark," he rumbles, dropping Thor's limp body without a backwards glance. He makes an attempt to step forward, but is abruptly stopped by a hand wrapping around his ankle, holding him in place.

Steve meets Tony's eyes and gives him a weary, red stained grin.

"It's up to you now, Tony," he says softly and lurches forward, snaking himself around Thanos' legs, forcing him to the ground.

Shaking from adrenaline and weariness and a thousand other thoughts and feelings, Tony slips on the gauntlet. It's almost humorous how easily it engulfs his hand, if it wasn't so painful.

It's agony. It's ecstasy. It was too much. _It was too much._

(It wasn't enough.)

He's on fire. (He's back in the desert, wandering hopelessly in the dunes, the blazing unforgiving sun bearing down on him.) Energy - pure power, bright and immeasurable - following through his veins. Blinding, white light overtaking everything.

(He's dead. He has to be. His heart had to have given out under the strain, but no. He can't die, not yet, not until he can see Peter again.)

(He has to live for him. He has to save him. Bring him back. Bring them all back.)

The murmurs grow louder, becoming clearer, shaping themselves into words, into sentences that dance inside his head, searing themselves across his brain. The stones... they're alive - sentient, aware - and grateful; Tony can feel their elation from finally being free from the monster's murderous bloody grasp. They wanted to thank Tony for taking them away, for saving them.

_Whatever you desire, we will grant_ , they swear to him.

Tony wants to go back, wants to stop the bastard in his tracks, before he ever got his meaty hands on the stones.

(He wants to kill Thanos with his own bare hands, like he should've that first time on Titan, before he'd ever gotten the chance to take away everything that Tony ever loved.)

The stones hum cheerfully, happy to grant his request, happy to get their revenge on the monster (never a man) who forced them to do such horrible, vile things.

Time grins smugly. _This will be simple._

Power cracks its knuckles eagerly, hungry for action. _Well, what are we waiting for?_

As their energies flood through him, warm and comforting (and addicting), another thought flitters through Tony's head; a thought that leaves him breathless and aching with longing. A face: young and soft and bright.

Peter. He wants to see Peter. His kid, safe and sound, in his arms.

_He's not yours_ , Howard reminds mockingly, tone as cold as frostbite.

_But do you want him to be?_ Reality questions softly, a gentle breeze whispering against the shell of his ear.

Of course he would, but Tony doesn't deserve him. Tony has done nothing but hurt the boy - pushed him away and ignored him. If Peter was his, Tony would be too afraid of tainting him, of ruining him and diminishing his light. He didn't deserve to have something so precious in his life.

_You think too little of yourself_ , Reality tuts disapprovingly. _You deserve a chance at happiness, and we shall give you that chance - but first..._

Tony's sight returns with startling clarity, making his eyes water and surroundings blur. Thanos stumbles onto his feet, behind him is Steve's body, carelessly discarded and beaten into an unrecognizable bloody pulp. Large, bulging bruised colored eyes fall to the gauntlet on Tony's hand, upper lip peeling back to show his teeth. Tony grins lopsidedly, heart pounding, the stones giggling in his mind.

And he snaps his fingers.

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

Tony blinks, hard, and the bright endless white is replaced by muted reds and dusty oranges; the cool crisp air turns heavier, more humid. In the distance, a copper colored planet hovers on the horizon, like a macramé sun. Something deep inside of Tony quakes with fear and misery - an instinctual, bone-deep panic clawing at his chest.

He's back on Titan.

And Thanos lays crumpled at his feet, eyes glassy and unseeing, staring blankly up at him. There's a blade lodged in his chest, buried up to the hilt, the tip of it poking out of his back. He's surrounded by a lake of red, blood a deceptively human color, reflecting the darkness hanging above them.

Tony forces himself to suck in a deep breath and counts back from ten, steadying himself. Though no longer in his possession, he still feels the power of the stones running through his veins, heating his blood. His hands tremble with repressed energy, a headache steadily creeping its way behind his eyes.

He stumbles forward, shakily approaching the body, and pries the gauntlet off the limp - dead, he's dead, he's finally _dead_ \- hand. The stones greet him warmly, the red stone shining just a bit brighter than the rest. It flickers, as if it was winking at him, and hums softly.

There's a shout, sudden and loud, and a heavy weight slams into Tony, nearly knocking him onto his ass. For a moment, the world blurs and tips sideways and Tony already has the gauntlet halfway on his hand; then, his eyes focus, and all he can see is wide honey eyes, staring at him in concern.

( _Peter._ )

Peter's face is streaked with dirt, hair matted down, clinging to his face. There's a deep cut on his cheek, bleeding freely, staining the side of his neck crimson. But, Christ - he's _alive_. He's clinging to Tony - not desperately scrambling at his clothes or crying in his ears - and not crumbling to ashes in his arms.

(Christ. He missed him so much.)

(How did he live so long without him?)

Tony drops the gauntlet and locks his arms around Peter, embracing the boy roughly. He squeezes him tight, tighter, tighter still. Tight enough that its probably become more than a bit uncomfortable.

(He's real. This is real. Tony _saved_ him.)

But Peter doesn't complain. Instead he returns the hug, babbling happily in Tony's ear.

"We did it," he says. "We won. We beat him." Over and over and over again. A constant loop of reassurance that helps Tony ground himself, reaffirming Tony of the new reality he's been thrusted into.

(A world where they never lost. A world where Tony was never forced to live without Peter.)

"God, Pete," Tony says hoarsely, and he reluctantly pulls away, just enough so he can gaze at the kid's face again. Carefully, he touches the wound on Peter's cheek, thumb skimming around the edges of the cut. A flash of rage flares in his chest when he recalls Thanos slamming the boy into the ground, hard enough that the earth shattered under the force.

(It doesn't matter anymore. Thanos is dead and Peter's alive. He's here, with him. Tony fixed it. That timeline no longer exists and it never will - it no longer matters. And now they're going home and Tony is going to keep him safe.)

Tony swallows past the lump in his throat, easing back the anger and letting a different sort of warmth envelope him, something soft and tender and beautiful. Tony takes a shallow breath and says something that is long overdue, something he should've said years ago: "I love you, Pete."

Peter's grin is blinding, the affection and warmth behind it ridding Tony of the last traces of dread clinging to his bones.

"I love you too, dad," Peter says happily.

(Tony's never going to let anyone take him away ever again.)

**Author's Note:**

> I always liked the idea of Tony giving up everything for Peter, including his morals. Doing whatever it takes to keep this boy safe from the cruel clutches of the world.
> 
> AKA There's just not enough fics of Tony being a Dark Dad for Peter
> 
> Let me know how you guys liked this concept. I have a few possible ideas for a sequel from Peter's POV. In the meantime, there's a short [ prequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22413376) about Tony's thoughts on losing Peter on Titan.


End file.
